


Reeling and Writhing

by lovesrogue36



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-02
Updated: 2012-04-02
Packaged: 2017-11-02 22:17:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/373947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovesrogue36/pseuds/lovesrogue36
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jefferson tries to find the trigger to Emma's magic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reeling and Writhing

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Once Upon a Time nor am I affiliated with any of the producers, writers, actors, etc.

A thread-thin blade sliced through the flimsy cotton of her t-shirt and, had this not become her commonplace, Emma might have been seized with fear. Instead, her eyes remained shut and the only sign she was even awake was the clenching of a fist where it lay on her pillow. The knife whispered across her bare thigh just as he did the same in her ear. “I finally got it. I know how to make you _work_ properly.”

“Go away, Jefferson. You’ve tried kidnapping me, kidnapping my best friend, drugging me. Last week you threatened my son, the week before that you threatened my job. Nothing is going to make me make your hat work because it’s _just a hat,”_ Emma hissed back, teeth grinding together.

“It’s not just a hat; you’re not just a sheriff.” He tossed the knife carelessly over his shoulder, the point sticking in the floorboards with a precarious twang as he abruptly straddled her. His hands, large and warm, pressed her wrists back into the soft mattress. “See, I kidnapped your mum, threatened the boy, because I thought maybe love would trigger it. It’s always love, you know. I threatened your job because I thought maybe fear or self-preservation would kick in. Still, no. But tonight, while I was… tripping, a bit, admittedly… it smacked me upside the head.”

Emma raised an eyebrow, struggling under his firm grip. “Oh, really? Because LSD always gives you _smashing_ ideas.”

“It does, it really does. Gets a bad rap, that stuff. Anyway, it hit me. It’s not something _personal_ or _heartfelt_. It’s just _energy!_ You just need to kick up enough energy to make the damn thing spin.” Jefferson threw a hand in the air as though it were just bleeding brilliant but was sure to slam it back down again before she had a chance to move her arm.

“Great. Just stick my finger in a socket and we’ll finally be done here.” She rolled her eyes, glancing over his shoulder at the clock that read five minutes past midnight. He always got there at five minutes past, as though he were perpetually running late, even for a repeat kidnapping.

A wicked(-er than usual) grin pulled at the corners of his mouth. “Not that kind of energy.” She should have seen it coming but the needle in her arm caught her as off guard as ever.

When she came to, she was seated in a chair at the kitchen table, her wrists and ankles tied firmly to the wooden arms and legs with good old-fashioned rope, the familiar hatter’s tools laid out on the table. Emma groaned, struggling uselessly for a moment. “When are you going to wake up to the 21st century and at least get some _more_ _comfortable restraints?_ ”

“Oh you’d like that wouldn’t you? Actually, might not have been a bad idea this time around. Ah well.” Jefferson plucked his knife out of the floor, looking particularly determined and mind-made-up as he marched over to her side.

Maybe she _shouldn’t_ have been shocked when he promptly set about cutting her out of her clothes but she was, she really truly was. “Jefferson!” Emma flinched away from the cold kiss of steel on her skin as he easily sliced the thin t-shirt off her shoulders, the fabric falling away to reveal cold, pale skin, goosebumps rising on the curves of her breasts and down the gentle slope of her waist. Lifting her head to meet his eyes, she stared in horror at the twinkle she found there.

“Oh don’t look so surprised. I’ve been coming onto you since we met.” Jefferson rolled his eyes, balling her ruined shirt up and tossing it over his shoulder.

“This- this is a _come-on?_ ” Emma gasped, hair falling over her face as she gaped at him, the fear running through her veins only masked by the shock.

He crossed his arms, giving her the same exasperated look she had seen a thousand times on Henry’s face, a thought she promptly shoved away, given the circumstances. “I was _kidding_. Of course not. See, lust is very powerful, and although it’s not as good and pure a magic as true love or really any kind of love at all, it makes for quite the localized energy storm.”

“So… you’re planning on… what exactly? Getting laid and having me make you a _hat_ at the same time? All while I’m tied to a chair? You know, I’m talented but even I’m not that good,” Emma shot back weakly, the joke falling flat in the chilly air between them.

“This has nothing to do with me, Emma.” Jefferson set a hand on her bare shoulder almost gently. Of course, the moment passed quickly and before she could blink he was on his knees, slicing off the last scrap of white cotton dignity she had left.

Emma whimpered uncharacteristically, teeth sinking into her lip so hard she drew blood. “Jefferson, please, don’t do this,” she murmured, glancing down at him with pleading eyes. “Please.”

“Oh for gods’ sake, Emma, I’m not going to hurt you!” He rolled his eyes, striking a match on the wooden table and lighting a candle, the flickering flame casting shadows over her skin. “Just… arouse you to the point of insanity and make you make me a magical hat.”

She grit her teeth, fingers clenching on the arms of her chair. “Jefferson, you have to stop this. It’s _insane._ I know you’re not supposed to tell a crazy person they’re crazy but you are actually, completely, unquestionably, _deranged!_ ”

“Hush.” He stuck his knife point-down in the table before pulling a small vial from his pocket. He uncapped it, dabbed a little of the pale blue liquid on his wrists and behind his ears, then moved to stand behind her, casually pouring the remaining potion over her chest.

Emma hissed at the cold splash, her back arching even as she breathed in the sickly sweet fumes. Her hiss became a gasp and the gasp became a moan, hands gripping the chair so hard the passing thought occurred to her that she might actually break it. “ _Jefferson…_ ”

“Don’t worry. Just a little something to help the process along. I haven’t got all night, after all,” he murmured, lips brushing the shell of her ear as he cupped her breasts in his hands.

Wriggling helplessly in her chair, Emma tossed her head back, the long line of her neck temptingly exposed. Never one to resist temptation, at least not anymore, Jefferson stroked the tip of a finger along the column of her throat, lips closing over her pulse point, even as his free hand abandoned a breast for the slow slide down her stomach, fingers questing blindly. She spread her knees as far as bound ankles would allow, chest heaving with shallow gasps and begs. Never had she been so ruthlessly reduced to begging (but, then, Jefferson always was a new experience.)

His fingers slid between her legs and the strangled cry she gave made him chuckle against her throat, tongue darting out to taste her skin. “Ah, yes, that’s it Emma, my darling girl…”

She thrashed under his seemingly expert touch, fingers plying her just where it made her ache most, just where it sent tremors through her body, just where she felt ready to explode. And then, without warning, it all stopped.

His hands and lips and tongue left her skin and she became very dimly aware of the ropes on her wrists being loosened. “Wh-what are you doing?” she demanded, the words slurred and disbelieving.

“Well. Now that you’re a pile of _goo_ …” Jefferson lifted her hand, carefully curling her fingers around a pair of heavy, silver scissors. “You’re going to make me a hat.”

It took a few moments for her vision to clear before she blinked at him in shock, nerves still quivering with anticipation. “You… you _can’t_ be serious,” she breathed, eyes wide.

“Oh, I’m quite serious, dear.” A smirk quirked at his lips and he perched on the edge of the table. “Because, see, you must be _right_ on the edge the entire time or there won’t be enough energy to make the magic work. So get cracking. I’ll be sure to keep you from coming.” That twinkle in his eyes was back but so was the deadly serious tone she had come to know meant not to argue and to just do whatever he asked or you might end up dead or headless or having a tea party (you never could be sure with Jefferson.)

With shaking hands, she reached for the stiff felt laid out on the table even as he slipped back behind her, hands caressing every inch of skin he could reach except exactly where she needed it most. She came close a few times but he made certain she couldn’t quite let go, whether it be with a pinch of pain at her breast or the silverquick slide of his knife at her throat. There was so much stale lust swirling in her head by the time the rather lopsided hat was finished, she felt certain he was right and all it would take was a simple spin of the brim, like a child’s spinning top, for magic to be real and true and, and… but it only spun in a cockeyed circle right off the edge of the table and tumbled to the floor anticlimactically.

Jefferson heaved a heavy sigh, momentarily unaware of Emma’s keening, her fingers curling around his wrist. “Bloody hell.” He flung his knife, the tip landing smack in the refrigerator door (she’d have to explain _that_ to Mary Margaret come morning), before glancing down at her with a certain degree of apathy. “Well, not your fault. Lust was a stupid idea.” He shrugged, dropping abruptly and suddenly to his knees, face buried between her thighs.

She nearly hit the ceiling in surprise (and she might have, had she not still been bound to the chair.) Painfully, violently aroused had almost become her normal for the last hour or so and his tongue on her- his fingers inside her- were enough to bring her to an earth-crushing climax with only a few strokes.

Emma slowly came back to herself, becoming aware of Jefferson’s scratchy cheek resting on her thigh. “Mmm, you taste _delightful_ ,” he assured her, pressing a parting kiss to her skin before standing and flipping her crooked hat onto his head. “We’ll do this again soon.” He yanked his knife out of the fridge and slung himself gracefully out the window, sucking her from his fingertips as he went.

(Leaving her to untie her ropes, clean up his mess, find some clothes and ponder how she might coerce him into giving lust another shot.)


End file.
